Not the Man I Used to be
by NemesisNexus
Summary: UPDATED 8th Dec. Added quite a bit more. Probably a one shot, but we will see. Just something that came to my mind, based on what we learnt in the Day of the Doctor. Please review


"Vis...vision...impaired." The Dalek struggled to croak, the lamps on its domed top flashing weakly, illuminating the shattered wreckage of the ship and its comrades. Small fires burnt from the now useless control console, the base of the unfortunate Dalek navigator standing at its station, its weapon platform and 'head' having been blown off completly. The remains of the mutant that had been inside lay ungracefully on the floor nearby, burnt and even more disfigured than it had been originally, whilst its sucker like control interface remained on the domed input panel, twitching slightly, as if still trying to compete the intructions it had been given before being torn from its body. The surviving Dalek swilved its head as much as it could, trying to asses the surroundings. Its systems were running on emergency power, and barely running at that, its optical lense showing mostly static.  
"No life signs detected." The creature hissed, almost sadly, if such a thing was possible for a creature bred on hatred and war.

The crew of the Dalek saucer hadn't known what had hit them. They had been ordered to report back to Skaro, after a period of reconnaissance missions, when they had found themselves under attack. Conflict wasn't a suprise to them, of course, it was the nature of war afterall, but the sheer ferocity and speed of the attack had knocked them off gaurd. As their temporal shields were ripped apart, the part mechanical crew scrambled across the flight deck; the navigator desperately fighting for control, whilst another Dalek attempted to open a commincations channel with their control unit. It was no use, of course. As the flight systems began to shut down, the saucer hurtled towards the ground of the dead planet below, narrowly missing a collision with the eye stalk of the giant Dalek sculpture which loomed over the landscape. Daleks did not fear death; it had been removed from their genetic make up, along with every other emotion other than hate. But still, they fought for survival, their only motivation to complete their orders.

Inside its metal casing, the Dalek mutant twitched with pain, its single eye bloodshot and weeping with a gloopy translucent fluid. It attempted to move, but discovered it was impossible. It could only deduce that the impact had left it laying on its side. Based on that information, the Dalek began to channel all of its reserve energy to its optical systems. If it couldn't move, conserving power was unnecessary. It started slowly at first, the static clearing, being replaced by the sight of the devestated ship and decimated Dalek shells. The eye stalk swept slowly from side to side, the Dalek assesing the situation, but it came up with nothing. The systems were beyond repair, even if it could have reached them. No, the only option was to wait for a salvage party. If, of course, one was sent. The Dalek knew full well that if it was in command, it would not waste vaulable resource recovering a dying soldier; it was just one of many casulaties, not even a foot note on the page of the Time War.

It was then that the Dalek sensed a shift in the enviromental conditions. A wind seemed to be sweeping in, blowing the flames around it.  
"Temporal craft detected." It confirmed, swinging its eye stalk towards the point of origin. Inbetween the flurry of static, the Dalek saw a shape forcing itself in to existence, the bright flashing light on top outshining the Dalek's lamps considerably. Moments later the ship had materialised completely. A dim light seeped from the small windows, illuminating the sign which identified the battered blue object as a 'Police Public Call Box'.

Throughout its life, the Dalek had always been told that fear was something they evoked in every living thing across the universe, not something they could ever feel themselves. That is what made them the superior race that they had become. But right now, laying alone in the shattered remains of the ship, surrounded by the corpses of its comrades, something deep inside the creature shuddered.

From the craft stepped an old man, his appearance just as battered as his means of transport. His hair and beard were grey and unkempt, a gun belt slung over his shoulder. He walked with purpose, ignoring the scene of devastation around him as he strode towards the surviving Dalek.  
"You.." The creature hissed. "You did this."  
"Correct." The man nodded coldly. "I did. Though it looks like I didn't quite finish the job."  
"We were no threat to you." The Dalek responded slowly.  
"Hah!" The Time Lord scoffed, kneeling down to look straight in to the eye stalk. "You're a Dalek." He spat the word, as if it tasted bitter on his tongue. "Of course you're a threat."  
"Your eyes." The Dalek observed. "They have seen much death. They contain so much hate."  
"Correct again." He responded, standing up and turning his atention to the chassis of a dead Dalek, the tubular gun attachment still in place.  
"Then you are like me." The Dalek taunted. "You destroy out of hate. It is what you live for now." It twitched, turning its sights to the man, who was busy reaching inside the metal housing. "After all this time you are just like us after all." It paused, purposefully. "Doctor."

The man turned angrilly, a silver device in the one hand.  
"Don't call me that!" He shouted uncontrollably, striding back towards the fallen Dalek. "I don't use that name. Not anymore." His voice lowered. "I'm not the man I used to be."  
"This will not make a difference." The Dalek taunted, it's lights flashing with each syllable.  
"It all makes a difference." The Time Lord retorted. "One less Dalek is one less Dalek, afterall."  
"And what difference does that make, Doctor?" The Dalek screamed his former name, it's voice filled with hate. "Our races are fighting across all of time and space. Worlds are dying at our hands at every moment. Destroying me will not change that."  
"Maybe not yet, it won't." He replied, his attention back to the wrecked Dalek casing. As he spoke, he was struggling to turn the machine on the spot, the weight causing him obvious strain. "But eventually, it will. I swear to you, I will wipe you all out, even if I have to do it one at a time."  
"So once again you prove to be just like us, Doctor."  
The Time Lord screamed across the broken ship. "I may not be the Doctor, but I am nothing like you."  
"Then tell me, Time Lord," The Dalek paused. "What became of our creator?"  
He looked up.  
"I tried to save him." He insisted, his mind racing back to that battle, the awful battle that had ended with Davros' ship being devoured by the ravenous Nightmare Child, a creature that by all rights should never have existed. No sane Universe could have allowed such a thing to live; but everyone knew that the Universe wasn't sane anymore. It, like so many, had been driven to the brink by the Time War. "This war has created so many monsters." The Time Lord lamented, "and maybe you're right, maybe I am one of them. But this world needs monsters." He sighed deeply. "Heroes don't survive in this world, not anymore." He wasn't speaking to the Dalek, not anymore. No, as he often found himself doing, he was trying to justify his actions to himself.

The Doctor had spent so long taking the moral high ground, skirting around the war, just helping those he could. The Sisterhood had convinced him that he had to make a difference; but the Doctor couldn't. Not without breaking every promise he had made, both to himself and to the universe. And that is why he had to change, change in to a man who could make that difference, who was prepared to fight. So, the Doctor had died, along with his principles. He was now no better than the rest of the Time Lords; it had been when they had ressurected Rassilon that the Doctor burnt his last bridge with them. They'd bought back the greatest leader in Time Lord history, and fashioned him in to the form they needed to fight a Time War. And now he had done the same, sunken to their level. And that disgusted him.

"So the stories were all true." The Daleks biting voice interrupted his thoughts. "The Doctor, travelling through the universe with nothing but words. Can you not do it? Can you not kill me, Doctor?"  
"I told you not to call me that!" He shouted again, finally shifting the broken Dalek case to face the survivor.  
"Then who are you?" The Dalek pushed, knowing it had nothing to lose. It knew how this would end as soon as that TARDIS had appeared infront of it. "If you are not the Doctor, who are you?"  
"I don't know." The Time Lord replied scornfully. "Maybe I'll find out, one day." He narrowed his eyes at the devestated creature, the salvaged Dalek gun pointed straight at its eye stalk. "Which is more than I can say for you." With a buzz from his Sonic Screwdriver, the gun burst in to life, obliterating the Dalek with a blue pulse of energy.

The domed casing shattered in to hundreds of peices, revealing the deceased mutant inside, the eye stalk clattering to the floor. Abandoning the Dalek casing he had used as a weapon, the Time Lord stepped back to the newly destroyed abomination. He poked at the fleshy remains with his Screwdriver, just to make sure. The creatures body gave no resistance or reaction, the tentacles falling limp below its body.  
"Job done." For a split second he felt a sadness, but quickly managed to push it away. He had learnt that he had to. He couldn't wallow in regret, not anymore.

This body had been young, at the start, but war had aged him, taken its toll. Not only on his body, but on his psyche too. He'd been fighting so long, but still didn't really know why. None of it really made a difference. The Dalek had been right; this saucer had been just one of thousands, an insignificant drop in the ocean. What difference could that possibly make? No, he knew that he was going to have to aim for something bigger. He'd tried once, of course, in his previous incarnation, tracking down the Key of Rassilon in order to fashion a de-mat gun. He'd found himself taken captive, but eventually got his prize. He'd been all set to use it, to wipe both the Time Lords and Daleks from the Universe. But he couldn't do it. That was when the Doctor decided he couldn't have anything to do with the war, flinging the key in to the time vortex and running as far away as he could. He kept running, but the war kept expanding, following him wherever he went. He found himself face to face with long dead friends and foes, bought to life by the ruptures in time caused by the conflict.

In this incarnation, however, every small victory had seemed worth it, to start with. Back then, each saucer he took down was one less drop in that ocean and he beleived that eventually, if he emptied it enough, he could dry the ocean of Daleks out completely. Time, however, had made him realise he was wrong. Now he just had to work out what this bigger plan actually was. The Key of Rassilon was well and truly lost, but perhaps the basic idea was still a valid, if not drastic one. There had always been rumors, tales of weapons of old, locked away for the safety of not only Gallifrey but the entire universe.

The Time Lord turned away, not looking back as he pushed the scorched doors of his TARDIS open and stepped inside, leaving the the devastation he had caused behind him, his mind racing with plans and ideas. He didn't know where he was going next, but he did no one thing. This war had to end. There would be no more.


End file.
